Week 6 Sir Philip Sydney, Astrophil and Stella Source: http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/sidney01.

.html Part 1 1 Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain: Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain: Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay, Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite-"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write." 2 Not at first sight, nor with a dribbed shot Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed; But known worth did in mine of time proceed, Till by degrees it had full conquest got: I saw and liked, I liked but loved not; I lov'd, but straight did not what Love decreed. At length to love's decrees I, forc'd, agreed, Yet with repining at so partial lot. Now even that footstep of lost liberty Is gone, and now like slave-born Muscovite I call it praise to suffer tyranny; And now employ the remnant of my wit To make myself believe that all is well, While with a feeling skill I paint my hell. 3 Let the dainty wits cry on the Sisters nine, That bravely mask'd, their fancies may be told: Or, Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine, Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold. Or else let them in statelier glory shine, Ennobling new found tropes with problems old, Or with strange similes enrich each line, Of herbs or beasts with Inde or Afric' hold. For me in sooth, no Muse but one I know: Phrases and problems from my reach do grow, And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites. How then? Even thus: in Stella's face I read What love and beauty be, then all my deed But copying is, what in her Nature writes. 4

Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest. Thou set'st a bate between my soul and wit. If vain love have my simple soul oppress'd, Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it. The scepter use in some old Cato's breast; Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit. I do confess, pardon a fault confess'd, My mouth too tender is for thy hard bit. But if that needs thou wilt usurping be, The little reason that is left in me, And still th'effect of thy persuasions prove: I swear, my heart such one shall show to thee That shrines in flesh so true a deity, That Virtue, thou thyself shalt be in love. 5 It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve: And, fools, adore in temple of hour heart, Till that good God make Church and churchman starve. True, that ture beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed: True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move: True, and yet true that I must Stella love. 6 Some lovers speak when they their Muses entertain, Of hopes begot by fear, of wot not what desires: Of force of heav'nly beams, infusing hellish pain: Of living deaths, dear wounds, fair storms, and freezing fires. Some one his song in Jove, and Jove's strange tales attires, Broidered with bulls and swans, powdered with golden rain; Another humbler wit to shepherd's pipe retires, Yet hiding royal blood full oft in rural vein. To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest style affords, While tears pour out his ink, and sighs breathe out his words: His paper pale despair, and pain his pen doth move. I can speak what I feel, and feel as much as they, But think that all the map of my state I display, When trembling voice brings forth that I do Stella love. 7 When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes, In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright? Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light? Or did she else that sober hue devise,

In object best to knit and strength our sight, Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise, They sun-like should more dazzle than delight? Or would she her miraculous power show, That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary, She even if black doth make all beauties flow? Both so and thus, she minding Love shoud be Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed, To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed. 8 Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place, Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart, And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race. But finding these north climes do coldly him embrace, Not used to frozen clips, he strave to find some part Where with most ease and warmth he might employ his art: At length he perch'd himself in Stella's joyful face, Whose fair skin, beamy eyes, like morning sun on snow, Deceiv'd the quaking boy, who thought from so pure light Effects of lively heat must needs in nature grow. But she most fair, most cold, made him thence take his flight To my close heart, where while some firebrands he did lay, He burnt un'wares his wings, and cannot fly away. 9 Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face, Prepar'd by Nature's choicest furniture, Hath his front built of alabaster pure; Gold in the covering of that stately place. The door by which sometimes comes forth her Grace Red porphir is, which lock of pearl makes sure, Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure) Marble mix'd red and white do interlace. The windows now through which this heav'nly guest Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such, Which dare claim from those lights the name of best, Of touch they are that without touch doth touch, Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw: Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw. 10 Reason, in faith thou art well serv'd, that still Wouldst brabbling be with sense and love in me: I rather wish'd thee climb the Muses' hill, Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree, Or seek heav'n's course, or heav'n's inside to see: Why shouldst thou toil our thorny soil to till? Leave sense, and those which sense's objects be: Deal thou with powers of thoughts, leave love to will. But thou wouldst needs fight both with love and sense, With sword of wit, giving wounds of dispraise,

Till downright blows did foil thy cunning fence: For soon as they strake thee with Stella's rays, Reason thou kneel'dst, and offeredst straight to prove By reason good, good reason her to love. 11 In truth, oh Love, with what a boyish kind Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways: That when the heav'n to thee his best displays, Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind. For like a child that some fair book doth find, With gilded leaves or colored vellum plays, Or at the most on some find picture stays, But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind: So when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet Stella, thou straight lookst babies in her eyes, In her cheek's pit thou didst thy pitfall set: And in her breast bopeep or couching lies, Playing and shining in each outward part: But, fool, seekst not to get into her heart. 12 Cupid, because thou shin'st in Stella's eyes, That from her locks, thy day-nets, noe scapes free, That those lips swell, so full of thee they be, That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise, That in her breast thy pap well sugared lies, That he Grace gracious makes thy wrongs, that she What words so ere she speak persuades for thee, That her clear voice lifts thy fame to the skies: Thou countest Stella thine, like those whose powers Having got up a breach by fighting well, Cry, "Victory, this fair day all is ours." Oh no, her heart is such a citadel, So fortified with wit, stored with disdain, That to win it, is all the skill and pain. 13 Phoebus was judge between Jove, Mars, and Love, Of those three gods, whose arms the fairest were: Jove's golden shield did eagle sables bear, Whose talons held young Ganymede above: But in vert field Mars bare a golden spear, Which through a bleeding heart his point did shove: Each had his crest; Mars carried Venus' glove, Jove in his helm the thunderbolt did rear. Cupid them smiles, for on his crest there lies Stella's fair hair, her face he makes his shield, Where roses gules are borne in silver field. Phoebus drew wide the curtains of the skies To blaze these last, and sware devoutly then, The first, thus match'd, were scantly gentlemen. 14

Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend, Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire, Than did on him who first stole down the fire, While Love on me doth all his quiver spend, But with your rhubarb words you must contend, To grieve me worse, in saying that desire Doth plunge my well-form'd soul even in the mire Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end? If that be sin which doth the manners frame, Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed, Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame: If that be sin which in fix'd hearts doth breed A loathing of all loose unchastity, Then love is sin, and let me sinful be. 15 You that do search for every purling spring, Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows, And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring; You that do dictionary's method bring Into your rimes, running in rattling rows; You that poor Petrarch's long-deceased woes, With new-born sighs and denizen'd wit do sing, You take wrong ways: those far-fet helps be such As do bewray a want of inward touch: And sure at length stol'n goods do come to light. But if (both for your love and skill) your name You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of Fame, Stella behold, and then begin to endite. 16 In nature apt to like when I did see Beauties, which were of many carats fine, My boiling sprites did thither soon incline, And, Love, I thought that I was full of thee: But finding not those restless flames in me, Which others said did make their souls to pine, I thought those babes of some pin's hurt did whine, By my love judging what love's pain might be. But while I thus with this young lion played, Mine eyes (shall I say curst or blest?) beheld Stella; now she is nam'd, need more be said? In her sight I a lesson new have spell'd, I now hav learn'd Love right, and learn'd even so, As who by being poisoned doth poison know. 17 His mother dear Cupid offended late, Because that Mars grown slacker in her love, With pricking shot he did not throughly more To keep the pace of their first loving state. The boy refus'd for fear of Mars's hate,

Who threaten'd stripes, if he his wrath did prove: But she in chafe him from her lap did shove, Brake bow, brake shafts, while Cupid weeping sate: Till that his grandame Nature pityijng it Of stella's brows make him two better bows, And in her eyes of arrows infinite. Oh how for joy he leaps, oh how he crows, And straight therewith like wags new got to play, Falls to shrewd turns, and I was in his way. 18 With what sharp checks I in myself am shent, When into Reason's audit I do go: And by just counts myself a bankrupt know Of all the goods, which heav'n to me hath lent: Unable quite to pay even Nature's rent, Which unto it by birthright I do owe: And, which is worse, no good excuse can show, But that my wealth I have most idly spend. My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys, My wit doth strive those passions to defend, Which for reward spoil it with vain annoys. I see my course to lose myself doth bend: I see and yet no greater sorrow take, Than that I lose no more for Stella's sake. 19 On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent, That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same? When most I glory, then I feel most shame: I willing run, yet while I run, repent. My best wits still their own disgrace invent: My very ink turns straight to Stella's name; And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, Avise themselves that they are vainly spent. For though she pass all things, yet what is all That unto me, who fare like him that both Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall? Oh let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit: "Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward your wit." 20 Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound; fly! See there that boy, that murthering boy I say, Who like a thief, hid in dark bush doth lie, Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey. So tyrant he no fitter place could spy, Nor so fair level in so secret stay, As that sweet black which veils the heav'nly eye: There himself with his shot he close doth lay. Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did, And stayed pleas'd with the prospect of the place,

While that black hue from me the bad guest hid: But straight I saw motions of lightning grace, And then descried the glist'ring of his dart: But ere I could fly hence, it pierc'd my heart. 21 Your words, my firend, (right healthful caustics) blame My young mind marr'd, whom Love doth windlass so, That mine own writings like bad servants show My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame; That Plato I read for nought, but if he tame Such doltish gyres; that to my birth I owe Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe, Great Expectation, were a train of shame. For since mad March great promise made of me, If now the May of my years much decline, What can be hoped my harvest time will be? Sure you say well, "Your wisdom's golden mine, Dig deep with learning's spade." Now tell me this, Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is? 22 In highest way of heav'n the Sun did ride, Progressing then from fair twins' golden place: Having no scarf of clouds before his face, But shining forth of heat in his chief pride; When some fair ladies by hard promise tied, On horseback met him in his furious race, Yet each prepar'd with fan's well-shading grace From that foe's wounds their tender skins to hide. Stella alone with face unarmed march'd. Either to do like him which open shone, Or careless of the wealth because her own: Yet were the hid and meaner beauties parch'd, Her daintiest bare went free; the cause was this, The Sun, which others burn'd, did her but kiss. 23 The curious wits seeing dull pensiveness Bewray itself in my long settled eyes, Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise, With idle pains, and missing aim, do guess. Some that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies: Others, because the Prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress. But harder judges judge ambition's rage, Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry place, Holds my young brain cativ'd in golden cage. Oh Fools, or over-wise, alas the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start, But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart. 24

Rich fools there be, whose base and filthy heart Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow: And damning their own selves to Tantal's smart, Wealth breeding want, more blist more wretched grow. Yet to those fools heav'n such wit doth impart As what their hands do hold, their heads do know, And knowing love, and loving, lay apart, As sacred things, far from all danger's show. But that rich fool who by blind Fortune's lot The richest gem of love and life enjoys, And can with foul abuse such beauties blot; Let him, depriv'd of sweet but unfelt joys, (Exil'd for aye from those high treasures, which He knows not) grow in only folly rich. 25 The wisest scholar of the wight most wise By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says, That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes, Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise; But for that man with pain his truth descries, Whiles he each thing in sense's balance weighs, And so nor will, nor can behold those skies Which inward sun to heroic mind displays, Virtue of late with virtuous care to stir Love of herself, took Stella's shape, that she To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her. It is most true, for since I her did see, Virtue's great beauty in that face I prove, And find th'effect, for I do burn in love. 26 Though dusty wits dare scorn astrology, And fools can think those lamps of purest light Whose numbers, ways, greatness, eternity, Promising wonders, wonder do invite, To have for no cause birthright in the sky, But for to spangle the black weeds of night: Or for some brawl, which in that chamber high, They should still dance to please a gazer's sight; For me, I do Nature unidle know, And know great causes, great effects procure: And know those bodies high reign on the low. And if these rules did fail, proof makes me sure, Who oft fore-judge my after-following race, By only those two stars in Stella's face. 27 Because I oft in dark abstracted guise Seem most alone in greatest company, With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, To them that would make speech of speech arise, They deem, and of their doom the rumor flies,

That poison foul of bubbling pride doth lie So in my swelling breast that only I Fawn on myself, and others do despise: Yet pride I think doth not my soul possess, Which looks too oft in his unflatt'ring glass: But one worse fault, ambition, I confess, That makes me oft my best friends overpass, Unseen, unheard, while though to highest place Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. 28 You that with allegory's curious frame, Of others' children changelings use to make, With me those pains for God's sake do not take: I list not dig so deep for brazen fame. When I say "Stella," I do mean the same Princess of Beauty, for whose only sake The reins of Love I love, though never slake, And joy therein, though nations count it shame. I beg no subject to use eloquence, Nor in hid ways do guide Philosophy: Look at my hands for no such quintessence; But know that I in pure simplicity Breathe out the flames which burn within my heart Love only reading unto me this art. 29 Like some weak lords, neighbor'd by mighty kings, To keep themselves and their chief cities free, Do easily yield, that all their coasts may be Ready to store their camps of needful things: So Stella's heart finding what power Love brings, To keep itself in life and liberty, Doth willing grant, that in the frontiers he Use all to help his other conquerings: And thus her heart escapes, but thus her eyes Serve him with shot, her lips his heralds are; Her breasts his tents, legs his triumphal car; Her flesh his food, her skin his armor brave, And I, but for bacuse my prospect lies Upon that coast, am giv'n up for a slave. 30 Whether the Turkish new moon minded be To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; How Poles' right king means, with leave of host, To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy; If French can yet three parts in one agree; What now the Dutch in their full diets boast; How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost, Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree; How Ulster likes of that same golden bit Wherewith my father once made it half tame;

If in the Scotch court be no welt'ring yet: These questions busy wits to me do frame. I, cumber'd with good manners, answer do, But know not how, for still I think of you.

Week 7 Edmund Spenser, Epithalamion (Source: Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 12501900 [OUP, 1919]; http://www.bartleby.com/101/82.html) YE learnd sisters, which have oftentimes Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, That even the greatest did not greatly scorne To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes, But joyd in theyr praise; And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne, Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse, Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne, And teach the woods and waters to lament 10 Your dolefull dreriment: Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside; And, having all your heads with girlands crownd, Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound; Ne let the same of any be envide: 15 So Orpheus did for his owne bride! So I unto my selfe alone will sing; The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring. Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe His golden beame upon the hils doth spred, 20 Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe, Doe ye awake; and, with fresh lusty-hed, Go to the bowre of my belovd love, My truest turtle dove; Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, 25 And long since ready forth his maske to move, With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake, And many a bachelor to waite on him, In theyr fresh garments trim. Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight, 30 For lo! the wishd day is come at last, That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past, Pay to her usury of long delight: And, whylest she doth her dight, Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing, 35 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare Both of the rivers and the forrests greene, And of the sea that neighbours to her neare: Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene. 40 And let them also with them bring in hand Another gay girland For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses, Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.

And let them make great store of bridale poses, 45 And let them eeke bring store of other flowers, To deck the bridale bowers. And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread, For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong, Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, 50 And diapred lyke the discolored mead. Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt, For she will waken strayt; The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing, The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho ring. Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well, And greedy pikes which use therein to feed; (Those trouts and pikes all others doo excell;) And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake, 60 Where none doo fishes take; Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light, And in his waters, which your mirror make, Behold your faces as the christall bright, That when you come whereas my love doth lie, 65 No blemish she may spie. And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the deere, That on the hoary mountayne used to towre; And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure, With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer; Be also present heere, To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time; The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed, 75 All ready to her silver coche to clyme; And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies And carroll of Loves praise. The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft; 80 The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes; The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft; So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, To this dayes merriment. Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long? 85 When meeter were that ye should now awake, T' awayt the comming of your joyous make, And hearken to the birds love-learnd song, The deawy leaves among! Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 90 That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

55

70

My love is now awake out of her dreames, And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmd were With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere. 95 Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight, Helpe quickly her to dight: But first come ye fayre houres, which were begot In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night; Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot, 100 And al, that ever in this world is fayre, Doe make and still repayre: And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene, The which doe still adorne her beauties pride, Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride: 105 And, as ye her array, still throw betweene Some graces to be seene; And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring. Now is my love all ready forth to come: 110 Let all the virgins therefore well awayt: And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome, Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt. Set all your things in seemely good aray, Fit for so joyfull day: 115 The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see. Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray, And let thy lifull heat not fervent be, For feare of burning her sunshyny face, Her beauty to disgrace. 120 O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse! If ever I did honour thee aright, Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight, Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse; But let this day, let this one day, be myne; 125 Let all the rest be thine. Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing, That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring. Harke! how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud Their merry Musick that resounds from far, 130 The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud, That well agree withouten breach or jar. But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite When they their tymbrels smyte, And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet, 135 That all the sences they doe ravish quite; The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street, Crying aloud with strong confusd noyce, As if it were one voyce,

Hymen, i Hymen, Hymen, they do shout; 140 That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill; To which the people standing all about, As in approvance, doe thereto applaud, And loud advaunce her laud; 145 And evermore they Hymen, Hymen sing, That al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring. Loe! where she comes along with portly pace, Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, Arysing forth to run her mighty race, 150 Clad all in white, that seemes a virgin best. So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene Some angell she had beene. Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre, Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene, 155 Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre; And, being crownd with a girland greene, Seeme lyke some mayden Queene. Her modest eyes, abashd to behold So many gazers as on her do stare, 160 Upon the lowly ground affixd are; Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud, So farre from being proud. Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing, 165 That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see So fayre a creature in your towne before; So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she, Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store? 170 Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright, Her forehead yvory white, Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded, Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte, Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded, 175 Her paps lyke lyllies budded, Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre; And all her body like a pallace fayre, Ascending up, with many a stately stayre, To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre. 180 Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze, Upon her so to gaze, Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing, To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring? But if ye saw that which no eyes can see, The inward beauty of her lively spright, 185

Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree, Much more then would ye wonder at that sight, And stand astonisht lyke to those which red Medusaes mazeful hed. 190 There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity, Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood, Regard of honour, and mild modesty; There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne, And giveth lawes alone, 195 The which the base affections doe obay, And yeeld theyr services unto her will; Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill. Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures, 200 And unreveald pleasures, Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing, That al the woods should answer, and your echo ring. Open the temple gates unto my love, Open them wide that she may enter in, 205 And all the postes adorne as doth behove, And all the pillours deck with girlands trim, For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew, That commeth in to you. With trembling steps, and humble reverence, 210 She commeth in, before th' Almighties view; Of her ye virgins learne obedience, When so ye come into those holy places, To humble your proud faces: Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may 215 The sacred ceremonies there partake, The which do endlesse matrimony make; And let the roring Organs loudly play The praises of the Lord in lively notes; The whiles, with hollow throates, 220 The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing, That al the woods may answere, and their eccho ring. Behold, whiles she before the altar stands, Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes, And blesseth her with his two happy hands, 225 How the red roses flush up in her cheekes, And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne Like crimsin dyde in grayne: That even th' Angels, which continually About the sacred Altare doe remaine, 230 Forget their service and about her fly, Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre, The more they on it stare. But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,

Are governd with goodly modesty, 235 That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry, Which may let in a little thought unsownd. Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, The pledge of all our band! Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing, 240 That all the woods may answere, and your eccho ring. Now al is done: bring home the bride againe; Bring home the triumph of our victory: Bring home with you the glory of her gaine; With joyance bring her and with jollity. 245 Never had man more joyfull day then this, Whom heaven would heape with blis, Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; This day for ever to me holy is. Poure out the wine without restraint or stay, 250 Poure not by cups, but by the belly full, Poure out to all that wull, And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine, That they may sweat, and drunken be withall. Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall, 255 And Hymen also crowne with wreathes of vine; And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, For they can doo it best: The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring. Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne, And leave your wonted labors for this day: This day is holy; doe ye write it downe, That ye for ever it remember may. This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight, 265 With Barnaby the bright, From whence declining daily by degrees, He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, When once the Crab behind his back he sees. But for this time it ill ordaind was, 270 To chose the longest day in all the yeare, And shortest night, when longest fitter weare: Yet never day so long, but late would passe. Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away, And bonefiers make all day; 275 And daunce about them, and about them sing, That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring. Ah! when will this long weary day have end, And lende me leave to come unto my love? How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend? How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?

260

280

Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home, Within the Westerne fome: Thy tyrd steedes long since have need of rest. Long though it be, at last I see it gloome, 285 And the bright evening-star with golden creast Appeare out of the East. Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love! That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead, And guydest lovers through the nights sad dread, 290 How chearefully thou lookest from above, And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light, As joying in the sight Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing, That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring! Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past; Enough it is that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast, Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures. The night is come, now soon her disaray, 300 And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken courteins over her display, And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets. Behold how goodly my faire love does ly, 305 In proud humility! Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras, Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was, With bathing in the Acidalian brooke. 310 Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon, And leave my love alone, And leave likewise your former lay to sing: The woods no more shall answere, nor your echo ring. Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected, That long daies labour doest at last defray, And all my cares, which cruell Love collected, Hast sumd in one, and cancelld for aye: Spread thy broad wing over my love and me, That no man may us see; 320 And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, From feare of perrill and foule horror free. Let no false treason seeke us to entrap, Nor any dread disquiet once annoy The safety of our joy; 325 But let the night be calme, and quietsome, Without tempestuous storms or sad afray: Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay, When he begot the great Tirynthian groome: 315

295

Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie 330 And begot Majesty. And let the mayds and yong men cease to sing; Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr eccho ring. Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares, Be heard all night within, nor yet without: 335 Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares, Breake gentle sleepe with misconceivd dout. Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights, Make sudden sad affrights; Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes, Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights, Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes, Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see not, Fray us with things that be not: Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard, 345 Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels; Nor damnd ghosts, cald up with mighty spels, Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard: Ne let th' unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking Make us to wish theyr choking. 350 Let none of these theyr drery accents sing; Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring. But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe, That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne, And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe, 355 May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne; The whiles an hundred little wingd loves, Like divers-fethered doves, Shall fly and flutter round about your bed, And in the secret darke, that none reproves, 360 Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares shal spread To filch away sweet snatches of delight, Conceald through covert night. Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will! For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes, 365 Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes, Then what ye do, albe it good or ill. All night therefore attend your merry play, For it will soone be day: Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; 370 Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring. Who is the same, which at my window peepes? Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright? Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes, But walkes about high heaven al the night? 375 O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy

340

My love with me to spy: For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, And for a fleece of wooll, which privily The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, 380 His pleasures with thee wrought. Therefore to us be favorable now; And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge, And generation goodly dost enlarge, Encline thy will t'effect our wishfull vow, 385 And the chast wombe informe with timely seed That may our comfort breed: Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing; Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring. And thou, great Juno! which with awful might The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize; And the religion of the faith first plight With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize; And eeke for comfort often calld art Of women in their smart; 395 Eternally bind thou this lovely band, And all thy blessings unto us impart. And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand The bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine, Without blemish or staine; 400 And the sweet pleasures of theyr loves delight With secret ayde doest succour and supply, Till they bring forth the fruitfull progeny; Send us the timely fruit of this same night. And thou, fayre Hebe! and thou, Hymen free! Grant that it may so be. Til which we cease your further prayse to sing; Ne any woods shall answer, nor your Eccho ring. And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods, In which a thousand torches flaming bright 410 Doe burne, that to us wretched earthly clods In dreadful darknesse lend desird light And all ye powers which in the same remayne, More then we men can fayne! Poure out your blessing on us plentiously, 415 And happy influence upon us raine, That we may raise a large posterity, Which from the earth, which they may long possesse With lasting happinesse, Up to your haughty pallaces may mount; 420 And, for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit, May heavenly tabernacles there inherit, Of blessd Saints for to increase the count. So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, 390

405

And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing: 425 The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring! Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, With which my love should duly have been dect, Which cutting off through hasty accidents, Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, 430 But promist both to recompens; Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endlesse moniment.